


What a King Might Need

by Buntheridon



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Aggression, At least not much plot, Drinking, Garrosh Hellscream (Mentioned), I know Varian’s not that bad this is just for porn kk, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably A One-Shot, Repressed sexual desires, Smut, Swallowing, Violent Thoughts, World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King, blowjob, but who knows, or are they?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/pseuds/Buntheridon
Summary: King Varian Wrynn’s hate-lust for his enemy requires some drastic measures from the spymaster. For king and country.(The graphic violence warning is for the few short violent fantasies, not happening in the fic itself.)
Relationships: Mathias Shaw/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	What a King Might Need

**Author's Note:**

> Thanking the _Armada_ for getting this idea into my head.

The Lich King had finally been dealt with. Officially the events would be written down as his defeat and the victory of the righteous and the living (and the undead who were against him). In some archives, hidden and only shown for those sworn to secrecy, the matter looked somewhat more complex.

But that wasn’t what was bothering the human king. The victory was real enough and the Scourge would leave the living alone. The celebrations had been going on for some days and Varian Wrynn had participated in the first few to show his gratitude and respect for the heroes who had fallen and the heroes who had survived the long battle through the Icecrown Citadel. During the ceremonies he had not really felt festive. His mind kept drifting off to some yet unresolved enmities and his mood turn sour.

The royal tents at the Argent Tournament grounds were still mostly up, part of the army and the larger infirmary was located there. The dark, impressive warrior-gladiator that held the crown – symbolically; he hadn’t worn that court ornament since his coronation – marched towards his private tent. In less than a week they would leave these cold lands and return to Stormwind. That couldn’t come soon enough.

Why then was he sleeping so restlessly and feeling this constant anger?

Varian’s keen senses warned him that someone was not far behind him, soundless footsteps matching his pace. His mood brightened at the prospect of a fight – a good old-fashioned one-on-one with a sudden attacker. The suppressed rage and bloodlust wanted an outlet fervently. He hoped the opponent wasn’t too squishy as his hand slipped on the hilt of Shalamayne. He felt adrenaline start to hum through him in anticipation.

But before he could release his wrath he heard a polite cough. _Damn._

”Your majesty, you asked to see me.” It was his Spymaster. He remembered vaguely having wanted to go through some matters concerning the return trip to their homeland. For his mood and this late in the night he couldn’t make himself care.

“Indeed, Shaw. But I fear I’m too tired for a long discussion. I’ll hand you the papers and we can sort that tomorrow.” He marched through the double canvas door of the tent vestibule, nodding at his guards who stood outside, expecting the spymaster to follow. He dropped his gloves and cape on the table and went straight towards a cabinet with several bottles. A glass of wine in his calloused hand he sat, exhaling, on the ceremonial chair with a high backrest. Mathias Shaw came to stand beside him at a polite distance and waited. After taking a gulp Varian shuffled through a pile of documents and found the one they needed. He placed it in front of the assassin on the table. Shaw took note of the frown the king was wearing, the absentminded way he sat there drinking, slightly slumped, deep in thought.

The king was a handsome man. Some might say the scars on his face were ruining that but to some others, like Shaw, they only added to his overall attraction. You could never call Varian Wrynn stupid, but he had his stubborn and impulsive moments that had occasionally steered the fates of people and alliances where a more diplomatic leader would have succeeded with patience. But what made him especially stunning in the eyes of those who had the taste for that sort of thing was the other side of his temper: the power he wielded when he channeled his rage into violence was no less than thrilling to watch. He became a force of nature when he charged into battle.

“Something is still bothering you, your majesty?”

Spymaster Shaw had long ago accepted that he had a very distinct type when it came to men he found fatally attractive: dark, brooding, physically strong, with the tendency to take the reins, sometimes without asking. There hadn’t been many in his life that really stole his attention in this intimate sense. During the years following Edwin’s death he’d had short relations with other types of people too but in those cases he was the one to command – his temperament didn’t allow him to submit to anyone less than, well, majestic. Shaw himself was a hybrid between an intellectual, a strategist, and a cold-blooded killer when the safety of the crown or the country required it. He was a professional through and through, and the fact that his boss happened to be the sort to make his knees go weak with desire to _serve_ had been a real test of his principles. Serving him by working diligently had been a practical way to sublimate the craving and he’d managed well enough for years now.

Varian sighed deep, his breastplate heaving up and down with the force of it. His grey eyes kept staring into some inner vision, his fingers slowly clicking open the concealed clasps of his huge pauldrons. He let one drop on the floor and when Shaw was about to pick it up he made a gesture to not bother.

”We’ve won a great enemy, but the old ones still remain. It’s that damned _orc pig_ who makes my blood boil to no end. I should have challenged him to a duel right there in the Coliseum and make him crawl before me.” His voice, even when tired, was seething with hate and a hint of something akin to lust. Mathias shifted uncomfortably beside him, still at attention. _Could you be any more school book example?_ he thought, recognizing repressed feelings easily when they were served on a platter like that.

”Thrall I can stand, he has been remarkably diplomatic. He has wisdom and a code of honor that I acknowledge. What he sees in that arrogant warmongering piglet is beyond me. Ugh, I could just rip Garrosh’s jaws open until his skull split in two.” He sounded like a hungry man savouring the memory of a roast ham.

The king opened the latches of his breastplate and without ceremony lifted it off his shoulders and on the table. His long dark messy ponytail whipped the air when he sat back. Underneath he had a white linen shirt and a leather tunic, practical and simple, embroidered with a small lion emblem. His thick, muscular arms bulged in the tight sleeves. ”Ah, much better.”

Turning his head to Shaw like he just remembered that the man was still there and he wasn’t muttering to himself instead he let his harsh face soften in the way of an apology. ”Sit down and have some wine, if you wish, Spymaster. You are not on duty anymore.” Shaw shook his head politely.

“I don’t much partake even on my free time, my liege.”

Varian continued to unbuckle and undress the plate pieces that made up his protection, tossing the boots aside and removing the codpiece and the legplates.

“Mmm. It helps me sleep better,” he mused, drinking from the glass that was ridiculously small in his big hands and then filling it again.

When he turned in his seat towards Shaw to seem more social, strong thighs spread, shifting his hips to find a comfortable position Shaw almost swore his too observant eyes to the furthest parts of the Twisting Nether. He nearly swore out loud too.

Whether it was the bloodlust for the particular enemy turned into something more complicated or just the perpetual loneliness of a monarch didn’t matter to him right now. Knowing the precise measurements and shape of the royal member in the state of full hard-on bulging visibly under the soft cloth trousers made Shaw’s mouth dry and pants damp. His own cock reacted cheerfully to the delicious sight before he could discipline his mind. _Oh fuck me,_ he cursed internally, meaning every possible interpretation of the sentence.

“If you’ll pardon the intrusion, your majesty… Have you had difficulty sleeping even after the victory?” He stealthily adjusted his own growing erection so it wouldn’t show so much while the king tossed his head back to empty the drink. _What am I doing? I should pardon my fast exit from this tent, not chat with him further!_

”The Horde sided with us against Arthas but I doubt the truce lasts for long. I’m always troubled, it seems.” He glanced at the red headed spy and flashed a small smile. ”It’s commendable for you to concern yourself outside your own expertise, Shaw.”

”The matters of the crown _are_ my concern, your majesty. I need to ascertain how much and what I can rely on the king, to know when my assistance is needed and when it is not.”

Varian chuckled. ”Fair enough. I just meant you aren’t a healer, that’s all.”

The slight hesitation that flickered on the assassin’s usually composed face didn’t go amiss now that the warrior was looking at him. Varian had always thought Mathias Shaw a bit too reserved and serious, but that was probably just his work persona and he _was_ extremely good at what he did. This was something else. Languidly the king tried to guess what it was the other man had almost said, kept his scrutinizing eyes on him and took a slow sip before asking. Did he detect a hint of nervousness? Why on Azeroth would Shaw be nervous?

”What aren’t you telling me, spymaster?”

Shaw suppressed a grimace. _Curses._ He had been caught. He shifted in his stiff posture and took a deep breath.

”Permission to speak candidly?”

”Granted.” Varian flicked his hand to urge him to get on with it, dark brows furrowed in annoyance for what else could it be than a lecture about the importance of a balanced lifestyle which frankly he could never achieve in his station?

Shaw didn’t look at his leader when he spoke, quietly and deliberately. ”It is paramount that you get enough rest, your majesty. There are… other means to relieve tension, far better than wine, I should say.”

For a moment Varian just stared at him. Then he chucked into his glass and raised an amused eyebrow.

”By the Light, spymaster, are you proposing to find _entertainers_ in the middle of this glacier? It’s not really an option for me, as you must well know. It’s too risky, for many reasons.” His face – and boner – was saying how he wished it were otherwise. ”Anyone I have intimate relations with would have to be either an exceptionally trustworthy person or someone who hasn’t the faintest idea of who I am. And both are hard to come by.”

”That indeed I know.” Mathias felt his cheeks start to warm and he closed his eyes for a moment, hoping it would be enough to get the message through if the king was open to the idea. If not, he was forced to put it into words… or action. Or dodge, lie and flee, if he lost his nerve or was rejected.

”Then what–” Varian started but let his voice fade as both his eyebrows rose. _He can’t mean…_

Before Shaw opened his eyes the gladiator king had time to inspect him, the color of his face and neck, the bulge under his leathers. _Indeed. Well, why not?_

 _”Shaw.”_ His voice was different now. Low, quiet, with a cadence that made people want to obey, with such delicious command in it the assassin trembled inside.

”My liege?” He looked at him with darkened pupils, afraid he had overstepped even without having done anything yet.

”What exactly are you suggesting?” Varian asked, a smile finally gracing his handsome scarred face letting the other man know he wasn’t necessarily against what was going on in the vague communication here. He leaned on the pompous lion paw armrest, provocatively pushing his hips forward, watching the spy gather himself.

“I am _excellent_ at keeping secrets,” Shaw simply replied, holding his gaze. Varian placed the glass on the table and opened the uppermost button of his shirt, eyes on his. Then he gave a small nod.

Shaw swallowed hard. He had a very high self-discipline and he was able to control part his autonomic nervous system if a situation required it; now he gave himself the permission to feel everything, to let his heart race, his cheeks redden, his cock harden to full attention. Even when he was offering a service he calculated it would please his majesty to see how he was wanted. It had been a long time since Shaw had held someone, anyone, let alone someone this desirable. Remaining professional was going to be impossible. 

Keeping his expression more or less composed Shaw pulled off his gloves and put them neatly on the table. He stepped in front of the sitting king, between his spread legs. “With your permission,” he mumbled and knelt down. Varian nodded again and this time there was no misreading the agreement in it.

The assassin ran his palms up along the muscular thighs but that was as much foreplay as he was patient enough to perform, and probably none was needed. He opened the laces of the king’s cloth pants and slid his hand in, pulling out the gorgeous thick cock. It was in proportion to the gladiator’s overall body size, veiny and neatly cut. The swollen tip was slick and aggressively purple, and it answered with a twitch when Shaw took the root in his fist. By the Titans, it felt good to touch another human after such a long abstinence. His lips were parted and he was nearly panting, and judging by the small delighted laugh the king gave he probably looked positively thirsty.

With slow movements he leaned forward and pushed his tongue out to lick the tip. The tangy taste made his knees weak – good thing he was already down on them. He gently sucked the head into his mouth, deliberately forcing himself to take his time, to make his sovereign remember this – not just as a fast relief but as a real pleasure. He couldn’t help but whine in his throat when he heard Varian grunt and felt his cock throb against his palate. Savouring every inch Shaw took it deeper in his mouth, feeling the weight on his tongue, tasting the salt of the skin. It was so thick it stretched his dry lips and it was magnificent. When he slid down the shaft trying to produce more saliva he thought about the issue king Wrynn had with Garrosh Hellscream. That called for further investigation.

Varian was more than pleased at the turn of events. The whole point of him retiring early from the festivities was to get inside the privacy of his tent so he could have relieved the aching tension in his balls and subsequently his head. To get a treatment like this, and from his master assassin no less, was better – and more erotic – than he could ever have imagined. During the Tournament, even during the raid into the Citadel he had been forced to take care of himself every night, sometimes twice. His rage towards that insufferable bulk of a beast seemed endless.

He groaned, throbbingly aroused and annoyed for having again thought of Garrosh. Why was he thinking about that cretin now? He clenched his fists when Mathias Shaw sucked his length dragging his lips back all the way to the tip. This definitely wasn’t the first time the spy had a cock in his mouth. He was so damn good Varian didn’t even rush him into finishing him off, so absolutely gratifying it was on many levels. To see the stoic, reserved man face flushed, greedily taking his flesh into his throat was a treat.

Shaw detected the change in the mood and pulled his lips off, keeping them close to the engorged tip. He snaked his other hand inside the soft trousers and enclosed it around the king’s sack, fingertips brushing the skin behind it. Varian shifted his hips to accommodate him and grunted in delight. When the assassin spoke his lips moved against the glans.

”What is it that got you in this state, your majesty? What do you desire the most? To see Garrosh Hellscream lifeless on the arena floor?”

Varian jerked hearing that name. He was about to scold his subject for the outrageous insinuation but the delicious slide of Shaw’s mouth on him made him reconsider. And it wasn’t as if he were completely oblivious to the connection between his rage and his libido. _He’s loyal to me. He would never talk of this to anyone._

”No, that’s not enough. Before that I want him humiliated, beaten – unh – _begging_ me.” 

_Ah, so there it is,_ Shaw mused and sucked him as deep as he could, suppressing the gag reflex easily, so hard and near bursting himself in his own tight pants he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to climax.

”Mmm,” he replied against the thick shaft, hoping to urge the king to reveal more. Not because he needed to know it but for Varian to realize a thing or two about himself. Shaw’s other hand was around the root, the other one caressing the scrotum but slyly both also kept the warrior from coming just yet.

“He needs to learn to – _ugh_ – to respect people superior to him – _oh, Light_ – I want to see his body smeared with blood and–“ It wasn’t blood what he saw dripping down the orc’s chest in his mind’s eye.

”Fuck, Shaw –”

And the king grabbed his short hair, pulling his head down as he planted his feet on the floor and pushed his hips up from the chair, up, up, again and again into the sweet mouth that was taking him in gladly. Shaw fumbled blindly until his hands found purchase in the armrests of the seat and he held onto them as Lo’Gosh took his pleasure, his rage and lust merging into one. The image of his subdued enemy in his mind Varian yelled and fucked Shaw’s mouth, who moaned in his throat and kept his lips tight around the wonderful cock that was making him delirious. The king shuddered and stilled, shooting his seed hotly into his subject’s mouth, groaning like the wolf he was. In his fantasy the orc yelled in pain and frustration. Shaw swallowed and swallowed and came into his pants without touching, the king’s thick fluids dripping down his chin. Varian fell back on his chair and released his grip on the red hair.

”Heavens, I needed that.”

Shaw was panting, lips swollen and red, eyes moist from the exertion, his goatee sticky and his hair a mess, not to mention his pants. He allowed himself a short moment to catch his breath, then he stood up, combing his fingers through his hair and taking out a handkerchief from his pockets to clean his face. Varian watched as his spymaster composed himself, put on his gloves and gave a small bow.

“I hope you sleep better tonight, my liege.”

“Your… _discretion_ is exemplary, Mathias.” He stood up from the seat and unceremoniously stuffed his half-hard cock into his pants.

“Like this never happened.”

“I might require for you to keep another secret sometime later this week.”

“With pleasure, your majesty.”

He left the tent the taste of his king lingering in his mouth and he quite liked it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What a Spy Might Give](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388636) by [jesseberyll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseberyll/pseuds/jesseberyll)




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